


Easy Companionship

by spicyarnor



Series: The Prince And His Bodyguard [12]
Category: Trails of Cold Steel, 英雄伝説 閃の軌跡 | The Legend of Heroes: Sen no kiseki (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyarnor/pseuds/spicyarnor
Summary: Olivert and Mueller, totally platonic childhood friends, go on what is decidedly not a date, in celebration of the prince actually getting all of his work done ahead of schedule. Only really rated T for the alcohol.





	Easy Companionship

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly before the Courageous is complete. Fits into my ongoing "The Prince and his Bodyguard" series, and while it can be read alone without having read previous entries in the series, some emotional context will be missing.

Being alone with the man he loved for hours on end most days was so difficult sometimes. He glanced up from his work to see the brunette intently focused on reading over the final draft of the treatise the prince had just penned, lips together, brows slightly tense as his eyes thoroughly scanned the page, carefully considering every word Olivier had written, and even seeing him like this filled the prince's heart with so much love it nearly overflowed. And yet, he had to keep this all inside, still.

"Oh, Mueller my love," he said, "Please, stop to rest for just a moment? You've been reading over my work for hours; you deserve a break."

Mueller raised a hand without looking up. "Just a couple more minutes, I'm almost done with this draft."

Olivert watched him quietly with a pained smile and an aching heart as he finished, touched by his constant diligence. Mueller always did so much for him. Certainly there was more that he could do for Mueller?

"This looks good," Mueller said finally, looking up from the page and setting the stack of papers carefully onto the prince's desk. "I think it might actually work. The administration has no reason to veto this, at least not that I can think of. Solid work, Olivier."

_Praise from Mueller._ Greater than even a gift from the Goddess herself. He was completely unable to suppress his wide smile at this, chest swelling with pride and gratitude. He raised his eyebrows, playing it off as a bit of playful gloating. "See? I'm not a hopeless case after all," he said, closing his eyes.

"I wouldn't go that far," Mueller retorted, folding his arms and rolling his eyes somewhat playfully. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. The prince's heart skipped a beat. _Oh, I really am hopeless._

"Oh Mueller, you wound me yet again," he replied with a dramatic gesture, not particularly sounding wounded in the least. He looked at Mueller, who made a soft snort and began idly working out a crick in his neck. Olivert stood, unable to help himself against the sudden urge, and walked behind Mueller's chair, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"What are you - _oh_ ," Mueller groaned as the prince began to knead at the sore muscles of his shoulders and neck with expert hands. The sound of pleasure made Olivert's heart race, and he was momentarily grateful they weren't facing each other, for he was sure his expression was wholly unguarded.

He brought his hands inward, firmly pressing his thumbs in small circles along his neck muscles, then spine, and Mueller let out a sigh and leaned back into his grip, fully giving in to his touch. "You always work so hard for me, Mueller," he said, moving outwards towards his shoulders, the brunette softly groaning as he worked his way across the tense muscles, slowly relaxing them. "It's the very least I can do to give something back."

"I'm not... _ahhh,_ " he sighed as Olivert's fingertips moved along his shoulder blades, persistently loosening knots that neither of them had realized were there. "...complaining. Aidios, you are good at this."

Olivert laughed softly against a close-mouthed smirk, changing from fingertips to palms, working his hands across his upper back, relaxing Mueller's tight muscles with wide arcs of his thumbs, enjoying the feel of his warm, clothed body underneath his hands. "You're so tense. It's my fault, isn't it."

"Yes," Mueller agreed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as Olivert worked his way back up his neck. 

The prince's eyes caught on his profile, his face that had softened, giving in to his touch nearly completely, and it was all he could do to resist laying soft, loving kisses at his temples, along his cheeks. Instead he gripped Mueller's neck in his hands and massaged up his spine in tight circles with his thumbs. "I'll take responsibility," he said, working his way up to the base of his skull, letting his fingers move freely now and press soothing arcs against his jaw as his thumbs slowly moved up the back of his head. "I hope this is some consolation."

Mueller hummed a low rumble of assent, letting out small sighs of breath, and Olivert's heart ached at the closeness. Here he was, holding his head in his hands, Mueller not showing the least sign of resistance. He hummed softly in return, fingers threading up through soft, dark hair and pressing circles into his scalp. He worked his way along the top of his head to his temples, and by now Mueller's face was so fully relaxed that Olivert was overwhelmed at his beauty. He brushed a hand quickly through his hair, fixing it, then let his hands drop lightly onto his shoulders, massage now done. Mueller sighed.

"Thank you," he said simply, opening his eyes, looking back at the prince with a curious, strangely open expression. Their faces weren't very far apart, and it would be so easy, so nice to press his lips against his, giving him a loving, tender kiss. How soft would his lips feel, a rumble of surprise reverberating against his own? Olivert could almost dare to believe that the man might let him.

But no, that was wishful thinking, and anyway, this was about treating Mueller, not him. He forced himself to draw back with a smile, squeezing his shoulders one last time before standing upright and bringing his hands back to his sides.

"Anytime, my dear Mueller," he assured him. "Now please, give yourself a break before I have to haul you from this stuffy room myself."

Mueller stood, stretching as he did. "I suppose we aren't too behind schedule. I just need you to sign and date this final draft and I'll make a copy and give it to a messenger--"

Olivert was already at his desk again, signing the treatise with long, practiced pen strokes. "Done," he said, looking up at Mueller. " _I'll_ handle the rest. You _need_ to stop working. I order you to rest, as a prince of the Empire," he proclaimed, with all the postured formality he could muster to Mueller's face... which was to say, quite a lot, but the playful glint in his eye made it look ridiculous.

"...Very well," Mueller assented, playing along. "But you've been working just as long these past few days. I have to _formally_ suggest you take a break after this so you don't burn out. Again."

" _Ah...!_ Such kindness," Olivert sighed happily, clutching a hand to his chest. "I will gladly acquiesce to your demands. Now, off! Fly, my dear Mueller. Be free!" He gestured dramatically, hand extending high into the air.

Mueller shook his head, turning to leave. "Yes, my love."

_What?_

Olivert's heart stopped, his jaw dropping.

No, no, he can't have heard that correctly.

"...What?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I said I'm off," Mueller replied calmly, his back to the prince, stepping out the door. "See you later."

Olivert stood there shaking, hands gripping the edge of his desk, heart nearly beating out of his chest. Yes, he definitely misheard that. He must have. His mind was playing tricks on him, certainly. Mueller was right, he did really need a break. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself down somewhat, then gathered up the papers and fed them into the orbal copier.

* * *

Mueller, on the other hand, made his way down the hall to the outdoor courtyard very, very quickly. He sat on a stone bench in the nearby garden, just staring at his lap.

What the hell was _that_? He hadn't meant to say that at _all_ , nor would he ever talk like... that, so casually, even if he were actually in a relationship... he only hoped. It was just some kind of awful Freudian slip, Olivier's careless endearments rubbing off on him. He just prayed fervently that he'd managed to convince the prince he'd misheard him. He really _had_ meant to say "I'm off", after all...

He'd allowed his guard to drop too much, thrown off by all of Olivier's kind words and gestures. The massage had been so good and so needed. All the tension in his shoulders and neck was gone. More so than that, being so close to the prince so naturally... He had been so close as he touched him, he could still smell the faint scent of rose petals from the prince's hands on his own skin. And it was so... nice, to be appreciated like this. It was nice to know that Olivier really, truly cared about him, in his own way. But the closeness and affection was causing his resolve to keep his feelings inside to waver. 

This was becoming so difficult. The prince was truly pulling his weight for once, and there was less of their usual conflict and more time spent comfortably together, calmly working or relaxing in each other's company, bantering back and forth occasionally. It was welcome, and even though the days were long and full of paperwork and political maneuvering, Mueller found himself waking up most mornings eager to start a new day by the prince's side. He was going to have to be satisfied with their easy companionship. ...And watch himself if Olivier tried another gesture like this, he thought with a grimace.

He groaned, pressing his forehead to his palm. He really, _really_ hoped he didn't make a big deal out of this...

* * *

To his great surprise, he didn't. It was as if the event had never happened. He came back to the prince's study half an hour later, dreading the worst, to find him casually strumming his lute by the window, plucking out a gentle melody and gazing out towards the early evening sun.

"Ah, there you are," he said with a smile, stopping his playing and setting his lute on the deep windowsill. "What are we doing next?"

Mueller relaxed, picking up a leather-bound agenda from a nearby shelf and flipping it open. Curiously, nothing was written for tonight. There was originally supposed to be a meeting with one of their contacts in the Sutherland province, but that had been postponed until later in the week. He frowned, checking and double checking mental work lists he'd made with the information written in the book. The treatise had been signed and delivered, and there was... 

* * *

"Nothing," Mueller said with a tone of bafflement. "We've... gotten everything done for today. You are actually _caught up_. I can't believe this."

"Are you sure?" Olivier asked, just as shocked as Mueller seemed. It was such a surreal thing to hear, he didn't even stop to think that maybe asking for more work was not really what he wanted.

"Yes. Somehow. I... guess you have the evening off." He replied, still frowning quizzically at the book, then set it down. "Congratulations. I guess you can actually act like a prince after all."

Olivert felt a surge of pride at even the sort of backhanded praise. The whole evening off, unplanned! Without needing to sneak away! His mind raced with all kinds of exciting ideas of how to spend it. He could go to the opera - oh, no, that wasn't tonight. He could have a night out on the town, tasting local wines, playing music in a little bar somewhere, maybe getting a nice meal in a fine restaurant he hadn't been to in some time? He imagined sharing dinner somewhere romantic with Mueller, toasting to the future, then realized his thoughts were wandering unhelpfully again. But, perhaps...

"Ahhh, Mueller, your words are like the sweetest nectar to this starving butterfly," he sighed, touching the back of his hand to his forehead. Mueller stared at him flatly, folding his arms, and Olivert chuckled. "Well, then, shall we go into the city and grace the people with our presence?"

"What exactly are you planning to unleash on the poor citizens of Heimdallr?"

"Oh, please, you flatter me far too much," he dismissed with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows, waving a hand. Mueller scowled, sighing deeply. "I simply think it would do to celebrate this victory! What do you say?"

"I don't really have a choice in the matter either way," he groaned. 

Olivert's heart sank a little, and his shoulders slumped. "Well, I suppose that's true..."

* * *

Mueller paused. He hadn't meant to hurt the poor man's feelings. "...Well, going out could be nice," he offered. "It would be good to get out of the palace."

The prince looked up at him with a smile of relief that he had to tear his eyes from, then grabbed him by the sleeve. "Wonderful!" he chirped happily, walking him towards the door.

He looked down at Olivert's hand on the cuff of his sleeve, right near his wrist, and mentally hesitated as he followed. He should tear his hand away, he thought. This was childish. He certainly couldn't be seen being dragged out of the palace nearly holding hands with the prince. But for some reason he let himself be pulled down the hallway by a humming Olivert before falling into stride with him and breaking his hold organically.

"Where are we going?" He couldn't help but wonder. 

"I haven't decided," Olivert replied with a finger to his lips. "Is there anywhere you've been wanting to go?"

"Not particularly," he replied. "Are you going to be dressed like that?"

Prince Olivert was wearing his full regalia; red gilded coat, fine vest, tall boots. Perhaps a slight bit conspicuous.

"Of course not," he assured him. "And neither are you." They came to a stop in a three-way crossroads connecting Olivert's quarters with the path to the guest rooms, which Mueller had permanently taken a room in as his duties required him to keep many long nights in the palace. "Go change into something less recognizable. I'll meet you back here."

"Well, alright," Mueller said, shrugging, walking off towards his room to change. Hopefully this night didn't get _too_ interesting.

* * *

They met back up a couple minutes later and found each other both dressed fairly similarly. Mueller was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers and a black button-up shirt, his sword in its sheath at his hip, attached to a sturdy leather sword belt, and Olivert had simply removed several layers so that he was only wearing light pants and a white shirt with frills at the wrists. His hair was down and he had on much shorter, less eyecatching boots.

"Perfect," the prince beamed, looking Mueller up and down. It was a rare treat to see the man out of uniform. His casual clothes suited him well... Perhaps too well for Olivert's sake, as the tight lines in the fabric around the thick muscles of his chest and forearms were a bit distracting. "It's been so long since I've seen you out of uniform, I'd almost been convinced it was part of your body."

Mueller rolled his eyes. "Let's just get out of here, then."

They made their way out of the castle and down to Dreichels Plaza without incident. The guards did a double take, but with a wink from the prince and Mueller drawing his recognizable sword from his scabbard a few inches, they were able to pass down to the square. Some of the pedestrians noticed them leave the palace walkway, but didn't seem to recognize them as anyone particularly important - perhaps just off-duty guards.

Olivier surveyed the plaza with an eager curiosity. The sun was perhaps half an hour away from setting. What would Mueller enjoy doing? Honestly, the man was so constantly occupied with minding him, he wasn't even sure he did anything for fun. It made him a little sad to think about. Ah, but it was nice to be out in the city with no obligations until sunrise. Endless possibilities! He saw a street musician performing not too far from where they stood and inwardly lamented not bringing his lute to join in. Alas...

* * *

Mueller watched the incognito prince look around the square with tempered skepticism. What terrifying gears were turning in that man's head now? Maybe it would be best to give him a destination so he didn't end up ripping off all of his clothes and performing a ballad atop the statue of Dreichels the Lionheart or something.

"Why don't we get something to eat?" he suggested casually, eyes looking towards the nearly setting sun.

Olivier turned to him with a smile. "Ah, now there's an idea! A celebratory dinner with my most beloved companion! I have just the place in mind." He began walking ahead towards the main road. 

"On second thought, maybe not," Mueller groaned, begrudgingly following along.

"Too late! Our course has been set." The prince ran to hail a taxi and Mueller followed, hoping dearly that they would be going somewhere normal.

* * *

The restaurant standing before them was an unassuming little place, tucked away into a small corner of the Sankt District. It was unmarked except for a small wooden sign depicting a platter of food and a glass of champagne. Mueller couldn't help but wonder how the prince even knew it existed.

"Ladies first," Olivier smirked, opening the door for him in a grand sweeping gesture. Mueller's eye twitched. He folded his arms, staying rooted in place, frowning at him.

"I don't see any ladies here. You must have scared them all away."

"Ah, harsh as always," Olivier sighed, walking in and handing the door off to Mueller, who stepped inside.

The inside of the building could not be more different. Classy and elegant and tastefully lit, it wasn't a particularly large establishment, and there were only a handful of customers at the moment, but it somehow resembled a small noble dining hall. A white grand piano sat in the center of the room, a young woman playing a calm tune on its keys. Beautiful patterned tiles in blue, white and gold covered the floor. The walls were decorated with inlaid wooden paneling, with carvings depicting various landscapes one might see in the countryside surrounding the city, hints of gold added throughout. Was this perhaps an old disused noble manor converted into a restaurant?

The person who approached them did not appear noble by dress, wearing instead the more relaxed type of formal clothing one might see in an ordinary higher end restaurant. He was a middle aged man, graying at the temples, who judging by the pin on his lapel seemed to be the owner of the place. "Ah, Mr. Lenheim," he greeted Olivier with a smile and a polite inclination of his head, "It's been quite some time. Are you here to play again tonight?"

"Oh, no, well perhaps if you persuade me," the prince said with a laugh. "I'd just like a table for two tonight, please."

It was strange not being noticed until now. Mueller was, well, kind of not easily overlooked. Tall and brawny, unless he was with similar men in uniform people tended to notice him, and were often slightly intimidated. The owner looked up at him in acknowledgement, then back to the prince. "Ah! Very well then, right this way."

They were led to a small table in a corner with only two chairs. It was kind of a cozy little spot, in an alcove that seemed a bit private. Mueller didn't think much of it, still taking in the unfamiliar scenery. They sat down and the owner bowed curtly. "I'll send a waiter over shortly," he said. "If you change your mind about playing, I do have a fine bottle of wine from Calvard you might be interested in..."

Olivier perked up at this, then gave Mueller a slightly apologetic smile. Mueller shrugged, not really minding. "In that case, I'd be more than happy to play tonight... After the lovely young lady over there finishes her performance, of course."

"Oh, excellent. I'll let you know when we're ready, then. And provide something for your companion free of charge, of course." With that the man left.

Mueller looked at Olivier, questioning. "Alright, what's going on here? How do you know these people? What is this place?"

Olivier laughed. "Why my dear Mueller, you worry far too much. This is just a small establishment I've visited from time to time over the years. The owner is very fond of my musical talents. I play a few songs to an appreciative audience, they bring me wine, and the food is absolutely excellent. The chef here used to work in Duke Cayenne's estate, you see."

Mueller frowned. "He left one of the Four Great Houses to work here?"

"To get away from the insufferable man, I can only assume," Olivier waved a hand. "Anyway, it's a great place to spend a relaxing evening, and I get to perform, so it's a win for both of us, right?"

That was... strangely considerate. Perhaps the prince was still secretly planning some kind of crazy antics, though he couldn't quite see what. "Well, alright," he shrugged, unable to object. "They really don't _know_ , though?"

"Of course not," Olivier waved a hand. "I'm Olivier Lenheim, wandering poet and a simple Hunter of Love! What else would you take me for?" He winked, and the music stopped, the owner walking over to their table.

"The floor is yours," the owner said graciously, motioning towards the piano. Olivier strode over to the piano and sat down, beginning to play.

It was Amber Amour of course, but Mueller had always been strangely fond of his piano rendition of the nearly too familiar song. A minute or so into the performance he had closed his eyes, relaxing into the chair, focusing on the melody.

A waiter brought him a small charcuterie plate in the middle of the performance, and Mueller helped himself to a piece of prosciutto, realizing quickly how hungry he actually was. By the time Olivier had finished his first song to enthusiastic but polite applause (Mueller joining in), and moved on to the next, he'd eaten half the plate.

The atmosphere here was nice... Calm, refined, yet somehow relaxed, made familiar by the prince's skillful playing. Yet there was some strange feeling Mueller couldn't quite shake. He wondered at this, eating a sweet grape and watching Olivier's hair sway as his hands danced across the keys, until the song finished and the prince took a graceful bow. He joined in the applause again.

"Wonderful," the owner praised, rushing up to Olivier and shaking his hand. "What a delightful performance, as always. You are always welcome here."

"Oh no, the pleasure is mine," Olivier replied with a smile. "I must say I do get the better end of the deal here."

"Nonsense," the man assured him. "I'll send the wine to your table shortly. It's an old favorite of mine."

Olivier returned to his seat, relaxing into the chair, seemingly glowing a little from the performance. _He's in his element,_ Mueller thought, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly.

"Ooh! They brought you something nice," the prince said excitedly, reaching and grabbing one of the last slices of meat.

Mueller nodded. "This is some deal you have here, Olivier."

"Ah, well..." he popped the meat in his mouth, taking a few moments to thoughtfully savor the flavor before continuing. "I may have miraculously saved them from closure with my musical talents long ago. Ah, that was a nice week..." he trailed off, plucking a grape from the near empty board, then smiled proudly, as if he'd thought of something particularly clever. "Perhaps if I perform a dazzling concert across the skies of Erebonia atop our new airship once it's complete, I can save the nation as well?"

"I think you'd have better luck playing a song for the Chancellor," Mueller snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Unfortunately I've heard the man has no taste for music. A shame," he said with a shrug, tossing the grape into his mouth.

Footsteps sounded nearby and a young male waiter approached, carrying a decanter of red wine and a pair of glasses on a tray.

"What a lovely performance," the waiter praised, placing the wine on the table for them, then pouring them each a glass. "Would you like menus or the usual?"

Mueller looked at Olivier questioningly. "Ah, Mueller, I usually ask for them to bring something that pairs well with the wine," he explained. "But if you want to take a look--"

"No, that sounds good," he approved, nodding at the waiter.

"Right then, I'll bring it out to you shortly," the young man replied with a respectful nod to both of them before leaving.

"So... Not a terrible way to celebrate, no?" Olivier beamed, lifting his glass and idly swirling the dark liquid.

"Not bad at all," Mueller agreed. "I'm really starting to wonder what kind of next-level scheme you're planning here."

The prince laughed. "Mueller, you wound me! Can't a man simply wish to enjoy a pleasant evening with his dearest companion?" His eyes twinkled mischievously, but for some reason Mueller found his guard dropping at his words.

"An ordinary man, sure," he said with a snort.

"Ah, but I am merely Olivier Lenheim. I'm as ordinary as they come."

Mueller actually laughed, covering his face with a hand. How completely _ridiculous_. "Olivier is even further from ordinary than a certain Debaucherous Prince," he said finally, once he managed to regain his voice.

"Such a compliment," Olivier gushed exaggeratedly, putting a palm to his chest.

Mueller groaned, eyeing his glass of wine, then snatching it up in his hand. He was certainly no stranger to drinking, but wine was not something he commonly partook in, unless it was served with a meal. He looked at the burgundy drink with a hint of stoic curiosity and began to raise it to his lips.

"Wait," the blonde said, and he reflexively lowered his glass, looking at him. Olivier smiled pleasantly. "A toast, first."

"Alright then," he agreed, seeing no reason why not.

"To the Courageous," Olivier said, raising his glass. "And to the future, and good things to come."

Mueller eyed the prince. He was always so full of hope and optimism, despite the Chancellor nearly constantly moving to parry his every action. The plans Prince Olivert was nearly ready to set in motion were brilliant ones, although even Mueller couldn't see the full reach of their scope, but his opponent was at least equally capable. And yet... Olivier was smiling, full of hope tempered with wisdom, yet still full of nearly naive youthful enthusiasm despite his age. Mueller couldn't help but smile back, raising his glass and tapping it to Olivier's with a clink.

"To the Courageous," he repeated, pulling his glass back towards him. "May your crazy ideas just actually work."

Olivier smiled widely at this, so sincerely that Mueller felt a stirring in his chest. Mueller put the glass to his lips, closed his eyes and took a careful sip, hoping the taste of the wine would distract himself from the man sitting across from him. It was bitter and complicated, with just a hint of sweetness, and he found it fairly to his taste. It did nothing to drown out his affection. He took another sip. 

He opened his eyes to see Olivier relaxing into his chair and pulling his own glass away from his lips.

"Ah, this is quite good..." the prince remarked, looking at the wine in his hand. "I see it's to your liking too?"

Mueller nodded. "Not too sweet."

"Oh? I see..." Olivier trailed off, considering. "But you have no problem with taking the last cake off the tea tray?" He questioned, eyes twinkling.

"Cake is supposed to be sweet. Alcohol, not so much."

"Hmm, I suppose," he mused, then shrugged, taking another sip.

It was a bit strange, sitting across from Olivier at a table like this, drinking wine and making small talk, the lights gradually becoming dimmer and more relaxing as the sun outside finished setting. Mueller couldn't quite pinpoint why. They'd eaten together countless times, in restaurants, at the palace, or otherwise - what exactly was different about this? He tried to put it out of his mind, and succeeded easily when the waiter returned bearing two covered metal platters of food for them. Everything looked delicious.

"Roast duck in a berry and citrus reduction," he explained as he served them their plates. "Rosemary-garlic potatoes on the side, and a house salad of local greens and lemon vinaigrette. Please, enjoy," the waiter finished, bowing his head.

"Thank you," Mueller and Olivier said at the same time, then gave each other funny looks. The waiter shifted his eyes between them then smiled curiously, leaving them alone with their meals. Mueller frowned slightly, feeling a bit strange.

"We're perfectly in sync," Olivier remarked, picking up his fork and knife. "Did we perhaps open a combat link without realizing?"

Mueller scoffed. "Hardly."

Yet something really did feel off. Some strange sort of... tension, to the relaxed atmosphere. Olivier smiled at him in his usual disconcertingly cheerful way before slicing off a piece of duck and eating it politely. At least some things about the prince's manners were refined.

Mueller let it go, and began tucking into his meal. The wine really did pair with everything perfectly - especially the duck, which he had to resist finishing first. As he slowly finished his glass of wine as he ate, he felt himself relaxing pleasantly into his seat, completely enjoying the evening.

"This is nice," he said, setting down his near-empty glass. "The food, the wine, everything. Are you sure you aren't going to suddenly jump out a window naked or something?"

"Maybe if you ask nicely," Olivier smirked, waggling his eyebrows. Mueller groaned. "Do you really miss laying your eyes on my bare countenance so dearly? Certainly, something could be arranged--"

"Keep talking like that and I'll be the one jumping out a window," Mueller glared.

"Will you be doing it naked?" the blonde asked, calmly taking another sip of wine. "Because in that case--"

"…You know what, never mind," the brunette groaned, planting his face in his palm and internally chastising himself for giving Olivier any material to work with. The man was truly impossible. 

Olivier just laughed, then put another forkful of potatoes in his mouth. _Honestly._

Mueller glanced at his half-finished plate of food, and his nearly empty glass of wine. Usually one glass with a meal was plenty, but everything was so delicious that perhaps it would be nice to have a second. He considered for a moment, then topped off his glass.

* * *

Olivier watched Mueller refill his drink, calmly observing. For Mueller to be enjoying himself enough to have a second glass of wine, he must be doing something right. Or perhaps something wrong that drove the man to drink, he briefly considered, then waved the thought out from his mind. He sighed contentedly, taking the last sip from his  
glass, before taking the decanter from Mueller's hands and refilling his own drink.

"This _is_ delicious, isn't it," he agreed, Mueller nodding. "It is the free exchange of wonderful creations like these that are why good diplomacy is so important."

"You want us to keep the peace with Calvard for _wine_?" Mueller asked with amusement, taking a sip.

"And why not? Not only wine, certainly, but... Just imagine all the incredible things our nations could accomplish as dear friends rather than bitter rivals. This meal, for example, would not be possible without this small bit of collaboration..." he trailed off, then scratched his head. "Ah, well, I suppose I've gone off on a political tangent again."

Mueller shook his head. "No, I agree with you. It's a noble ideal, though perhaps a bit of a difficult one."

"Ideals always are," Olivier said with a smile, and the two shared a pleasant glance for a moment before going back to their meals. The prince felt his heart skip a beat.

This evening was such a complete treat. Mueller was enjoying himself, and they were getting along so well. To be sitting in a secluded corner eating a fine meal and sharing drinks with the man he loved, with soft mood lighting, gentle piano music drifting through the air and everything, it... Well, it was almost like a date. Except for, you know, the actual romance part. Maybe... Maybe he could find the courage to confess his feelings tonight? He looked at Mueller, who had closed his eyes while eating, taking in the flavors of his food, face lightly flushed from the wine, body and shoulders gently relaxed. 

Oh, Mueller was having such a nice night. Who was Olivier to make it all about himself?

He sipped his wine, savoring the complex taste and the warm feeling it gave him, then returned to eating.

Still. This was basically a date, right? Why not make it a great one, even if they weren't calling it that, and even if Mueller likely didn't feel the same? After this, perhaps they could go for an evening stroll... Get some ice cream... His thoughts wandered, gears turning in his mind as he fantasized about planning various scenarios. Perhaps... 

* * *

Mueller sighed with satisfaction, setting his cutlery down on his empty plate and leaning back in his chair. He may have drank a bit more wine than he'd intended, but he hadn't had such a wholly satisfying meal in quite some time. The prince had mostly behaved himself too, and as he looked across the table to see him taking the last sip of his drink and last bite of meat, he couldn't help but feel a bit of fondness, a gentle urge to be close to him.

Yes, perhaps a bit more wine than he'd meant to drink. Oh well.

"That was excellent," he said, dabbing his lips with his napkin, then eyed the last bit of wine in his glass and drank it against his better judgment. Oh, this was a celebration after all, right?

"Indeed," Olivier agreed, setting his cutlery down as well. The waiter materialized seemingly out of nowhere at this, as if magically summoned by the sound of metal on ceramic.

"Did you two enjoy your meal?" he asked, collecting the empty plates.

"Incredibly so," Olivier assured him, smiling. "Please give the chef our highest compliments."

"Yes, it was great," Mueller agreed sincerely.

The waiter smiled. "I will be sure to tell her. Will the two of you be wanting dessert?"

Mueller and Olivier shared a glance, both shaking their heads. "No, I don't think I have room unfortunately," the brunette said, the prince nodding in agreement.

"No problem, just come to the front when you're ready," he replied, nodding respectfully before leaving with their dishes.

They got up a few moments later, Olivier paying for their meal at his insistence -- not that Mueller couldn't pay, of course, being a noble with a lucrative honorable guard position, but it was hard to refuse a free meal from royalty, even if said royalty was your oldest friend.

"How about we go walk our meal off?" Olivier suggested as they left the building. It was a nice, pleasant early summer night, not too warm but not too cold, and the fresh air felt nice on Mueller's wine-flushed skin.

"Alright," he agreed, "that sounds good."

The two fell in step together, walking down the sidewalk past little shops, the bright nighttime lights of the capital illuminating everything. It was good to be walking around after such a large meal, in a comfortable silence... Well, Olivier was humming to himself, he noticed, but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Yet he still couldn't shake the strange feeling from earlier. Something was off about this evening somehow. But what was it?

"Mueller, look," Olivier said, tugging on his sleeve and pointing upwards. Mueller glanced up, seeing the illuminated, colorful stained glass of the Heimdallr Cathedral had come into full view. For all his years in this city, he had rarely seen the cathedral at night before. It was a stunning vision.

He looked over at Olivier, who was still holding his sleeve, looking up at the cathedral, appreciating its beauty, the colorful light softly hitting his pale features.

Suddenly, with a feeling of culmination, he realized what felt off. This was practically a date. They'd had a secluded, high class dinner, sharing drinks, and now they were walking around together seeing the sights. He felt his face go red, and he wrenched his eyes away from the prince and back to the building, folding his arms to escape Olivier's grasp.

"It's beautiful," he said, trying to stuff down his sudden nervousness. _Don't be silly, Mueller,_ he told himself, _you've done this kind of thing together countless times before. It isn't_ actually _a date. There's no reason you should be feeling this worked up._

But oh Aidios he felt nearly on the verge of panic. He took a deep, silent breath in an attempt to calm his nerves, and it worked somewhat, but the thoughts were difficult to push down.

"It is," Olivier agreed.

He glanced over at Olivier again, only to see him looking at him with a smile. Oh, no, that wasn't helpful either. God, what was wrong with him? It wasn't a date; Olivier wasn't even teasing him as if it were... Though that fact made him even more uneasy now that he thought about it.

"…Well, maybe we should head back to the palace," he suggested, turning towards the road. "It's getting late, so..."

"Mueller, we're grown men, and it's 8:30," Olivier replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Really? That's strange," Mueller grimaced, failing terribly at playing this off. Oh Aidios, _why_. "I thought it was later."

"We just passed a clock tower," the blonde said, laying a hand on Mueller's shoulder. He stiffened. "Are you feeling alright?"

Mueller sighed. "I'm fine. …Maybe I had too much wine."

"Oh- _ho_ ," the prince smirked, "I thought we had the same amount to drink? And you're so much larger than me."

He pressed a palm to his face. Why did he have to play _this_ card here? "...Yes, but unlike you, I don't drink every day, and those were pretty full glasses," he explained, pausing. "And I hope that wasn't an insult just now."

"Of course not," Olivier assured him. "You're a big, strong, intimidating man," he continued, patting his shoulder, and Mueller groaned, feeling a slight bit patronized. The prince chuckled. "Well, I suppose more reason to walk this off, no?"

There wasn't really a way out of this, Mueller realized. He sighed, resigned. "You're probably right," he assented, glancing at the prince, who just smiled in his usual cheerful way. Well... This wasn't _really_ a date. They were just spending some time together outside of work, as ordinary close friends ought to do. Right? Right.

He allowed himself to fall into step with Olivier once more, doing so completely unconsciously. Olivier chuckled again. "Mueller, tipsy off of two cups of wine," he teased. "I figured you could drink me under the table if you wanted."

Mueller groaned yet again, the soundtrack of his life. "I'm _not_ tipsy. I just lost track of time. And I probably could," he insisted, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, really?" Olivier asked, not sounding remotely convinced.

"Yes, really," Mueller said flatly, folding his arms. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Nowhere in particular," Olivier replied. The two of them came to a stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. "Is there anywhere you'd like to go?"

"Not really," Mueller said, thinking about it. Nothing particular came to mind.

"Well then," the prince chirped, linking his arm around Mueller's, clinging to his shoulder. Mueller stiffened, looking at him warily. Olivier was just smiling in his usual mischievous way. "Shall we keep walking?"

"Not like _that_ ," the brunette sighed, untangling his arm from the prince's. Honestly, did the man even think about what he was doing? Undoubtedly he thought the gesture would be a funny joke. "I get it, I'm a big strong man. Ha ha."

Olivier pouted, putting his hands in his pockets. "Oh, fine," he said with an air of disappointment, "let's just keep going, then."

* * *

In the end, they wound up taking a tram back to Vainqueur Street and walking from there towards the palace. Despite enjoying their simple companionship, things were quieter the rest of the way back. This seemed to put Mueller at ease, but Olivier couldn't help but feel a little sad. Of course this wasn't a date. They were only friends. The setting alone wouldn't change that. He shouldn't have expected anything more without asking for it.

Olivier sighed, approaching the statue of Dreichels the Lionheart, stopping to look at it and studying his face. Had his ancestors struggled with such silly problems? They would have had to, they were only human, yet looking at the man depicted here he only saw a decisive general entirely free of any doubts. Dreichels the Lionheart hadn't been hopelessly in love with his Vander bodyguard, of that he was certain. Or even if he had been, he had certainly done something about it. Olivier couldn't help but feel terribly frustrated with himself.

Mueller's footsteps hit the stone behind him, and a hand fell onto his shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

Olivier relaxed his shoulders, slumping forward slightly. "I don't know, Mueller," he confessed, "sometimes I think the tasks ahead of me are far bigger than I am."

Mueller moved forward wordlessly, standing close beside him. He moved his hand from Olivier's shoulder to his upper back, firmly supporting him. The prince stood up straighter, looking at Mueller with mild surprise.

"I know," he agreed, looking up at the statue now, his face in profile. "But that's why you're not doing them alone."

Olivier found it hard to contain his emotions. He smiled, in that strained yet sincere way, holding back the urge to shed tears. His heart ached, yet he felt renewed somehow. He couldn't bring himself to say the words he wanted to say, but he felt so grateful for the man standing beside him.

"Yes," he finally managed to say, once he'd gotten himself calmed enough to keep the shaking from his voice, "Yes, you're right."

He reached out and touched Mueller's shoulder, firmly clasping it. They shared a small smile. Oh, if he could just reach out and kiss Mueller, right here in the middle of Dreichels Plaza -- but, no. Now was not that moment. That time would come. Best to enjoy the perfectly good one he had tonight.

"Come on, then," Olivier said, releasing him, looking off towards the dazzling lights of the nighttime palace. "Let's go home."


End file.
